A Little Hike
by Anna Greenway
Summary: The show never explained how Grissom and Sara got together. What if it was something really simple? TeamFic & Subtle GSR. Set early season 6.


When Sara is asked by Internal Affairs about how the case got started, she is honest in telling them that it was all Ecklie's idea. When she thinks back, she can clearly visualise the team standing around in a semi-circle in Ecklie's office, on a hot blustery day, in a morning after a very long shift.

Sara is trepidatious as she waits there; the team has just got back together, and it is ominous to her that Ecklie wants to see them so soon, and her feeling is not helped when she sees Sofia walk in, her new detective's badge pinned to her waist, looking as confused as Sara feels.

"Hey," Sofia says.

"Hey," Sara replies, puzzled.

She looks to Nick beside her, but he only nods at the detective politely. She has no idea why Sofia is with them, after successfully transferring out.

Sofia greets Ecklie, who wanders over from behind his desk, and Grissom wastes no time in getting proceedings started.

"Well …" He peers across at Ecklie. "Now we're all here."

Sara stops herself from smiling. His innocent tone is a betrayal of his frustration, but Ecklie misses it.

"There's been some disappearances up at Mount Charleston," he says instead, and hands Grissom a pile of folders. "A couple of tourists. Three over the last three months. You may have seen it on the news."

"I saw that," Warrick admits. "They assumed they got lost or something. They did a search but never found them."

"Probably wandered off the trail," Nick suggests. "You have to be careful up there."

"People are overconfident in the wilderness," Sara says. "They were probably ill-prepared, no equipment. Got lost, or injured."

"Is PD looking into the disappearances?" Catherine asks. The topmost folder has been passed to her and she opens it to glance swiftly over the details, her glasses on. "They suspect foul play?"

"Not exactly," Ecklie says.

"Then what exactly?" Sofia asks.

"The Sheriff's asked us to look into it. Tourists up there are reporting odd sightings in the hills. Some kind of ghost, or spirit. One of those to disappear is the friend of the daughter of the Governor. The daughter put an account on social media and it's gone viral. Tourism operators on Mount Charleston are saying business has dropped."

"And where do we fit in?" Grissom asks.

His tone is careful, polite.

"I take it Search and Rescue didn't find anything," Catherine says.

"I've been asked if you'd mind putting it under your scientific lens," Ecklie says. "Go up there, take a look around, write a report. They want to bolster confidence in the area."

"What are we talking about?" Nick asks, appearing confused. "Take a day trip? Have a poke around?"

"You mean dispel the rumour," Sofia concludes.

Her hands pause on the folder, and she looks over it to Ecklie, disbelief on her face.

"Read the reports, go to the camp site, spend the night. See if you can find anything. Write a report when you get back."

"If you're trying to kill a story, having us there is just going to promote it," Warrick says.

Ecklie stands and fetches a business card from his desk, handing it to Grissom.

"I've arranged for the hire of your camping gear. Swing and Days will cover your caseload."

Sara glances at the business card from her position next to Grissom, and then to Nick on her other side, who is browsing the file. She catches a glimpse of a map; it looks remote. Very remote.

"All of us?" she queries.

She is aware of the stack of case files on Grissom's desk.

"That's right. All of you."

He pauses, and then, remarkably, his features relax, into a pose which she could suppose is an attempt at sympathy.

"Look, think of it as a team builder. Your team's back together. You got what you wanted. I thought you'd like to take a day, ease back in."

His eyes focus on Nick, and Sara swallows down the memory of his rescue, the one that still haunts her. She sees Nick look away, toward the window.

"All right," Grissom agrees. "We'll do what we can."

Sara glances at him beside her, and knows he thinks it is ridiculous, but he doesn't talk. He takes the file, and she reflects that maybe this year, he is more politically savvy.

XXX

Incredibly, Sara learns on the car ride up into the mountains that Grissom actually doesn't mind the hike. He looks casual, sleeves rolled up as he drives, leaning back, relaxed.

"You actually don't mind?" she asks.

"Look, Nick went to hell and back," he justifies, gesturing as he drives. "I think it might do us all some good to get a little air. I know it might sound hard to believe, but I think Ecklie's right about this one."

"He's not doing this for the good of the team," Sara explains. "He's doing this so the Sheriff can stand up and say it's been investigated, and the area is safe."

"Maybe," he says. "But we'll make the most of it."

He looks across to her, drumming in that he wants a positive attitude, and Sara gazes out the windscreen, nodding. If that is the order, she will try.

When they arrive at the Ranger's Station, a small one-man outpost at the start of a deserted trail, Grissom swings the car in to park, and gets out, where the team is waiting for them. Sara unlocks the back, unloading two day's worth of camping gear and bags, and Nick leaps forward to help her, swinging the packs down onto the ground.

"I can't believe I'm going ghost hunting," Catherine complains.

Sara can tell at a glance that she is pissed off. Her sunglasses are on, her hair luminous in the bright morning light, but she swings down her pack with a hard thump to the ground.

"Just when you thought you'd done it all, right?" Nick jokes.

"Come on, where's your sense of humour?" Warrick says, touching her shoulder. "This doesn't amuse you even a little?"

"What's to be amused about?" she counters. "This is a two day mission, I had to hire a babysitter."

"Your Mom's out of town?" Sara asks, knowing she usually leaves Lindsey with Lily Flynn.

"In L.A.," Catherine replies. "A girl's trip."

"That's unfortunate," Grissom offers.

"Unfortunate?" Catherine repeats. "It's costly. I'm two hundred dollars out of pocket."

"Well, in that case, let's make the most of it."

Catherine stands up, and eyes him carefully.

"Don't tell me you bought into that team builder crap."

"He did," Sara offers.

"It might sound strange, but I think this is actually Ecklie trying to be nice," Grissom says.

"Yeah, well," Catherine dismisses. "Next time he decides to be nice, I want two weeks' warning."

Catherine's bad mood continues for at least a half hour up the trail, as they hike up in single file, packs loaded on their backs. Sara feels quite relaxed, and feeling for Grissom, tries to keep the mood positive. Sofia, however, is equally cynical, and as Sara walks she can hear her behind her with Warrick, making conversation. Sofia was the last to join them at the trail head, and once out of earshot of Vegas, Sara discovers that she is quite open to admitting why she is tagging along.

"You believe in ghosts?" Warrick asks.

Sara smiles to herself, and focuses on the trail at her feet.

"No way," Sofia replies, predictably. "I think people disappear because they're stupid … of they ran afoul of someone."

"Let's hope we don't run afoul of someone," Catherine suggests, her mood still burning off.

"How about you Griss?" Warrick calls ahead. "You believe in ghosts?"

"I won't rule anything out," Grissom replies.

He doesn't even turn around, but keeps walking, hitting his stride.

"Well," Sofia says, behind Sara, "If we catch a ghost, you can cuff him. Bring him back to Ecklie for questioning."

"I'd like to see that," Sara says.

"How'd you get stuck with this case, anyway?" Nick asks Sofia, bringing up the rear. "I doubt they put it to you as a team builder."

"I was asked by the Sheriff," Sofia says. "A personal favour."

"Ah." Catherine makes a sympathetic noise. "Couldn't say no, huh?"

"He knows my background," Sofia admits. "And they had to send along someone as PD support. Just in case there is a lunatic up there."

"I pity you," Warrick offers.

As they continue up the trail Nick is still stuck on the topic of ghosts, and the conversation turns to the afterlife, and what they would do. Sara stays out of it, feeling it's morbid, but she listens as Warrick admits to wanting to travel, and Catherine takes a serious note and says she would hang around Lindsey, making sure her daughter is okay. Sara is about to change the subject onto something happier – feeling the conversation does not meet Grissom's brief on a happy trip – just as she hears a scrape and a wince, and turns around to find Sofia has tripped over, landing with her hands on the gravel.

"You okay?" Sara asks.

"Yeah –"

She watches as Nick rushes forward, and never able to resist a woman in distress, he is the first to help her up.

"You sure?" he asks.

"I'm good," she replies.

But she pauses and lifts the hem of her pants, and Sara spots a bloody graze on her right knee.

"Ugh." Nick winces. "Better clean that up."

"You have the first aid kit?" Warrick asks Catherine.

"Forget it," Sofia dismisses. "We need to reach camp before dark."

"It'll only take a second," Nick rules.

In the end Sofia is bullied into getting it tended to, and Sara summons Grissom back, from where he had walked ahead up the trail. The group lingers as they watch Catherine dig in her pack for the first aid kit – as the only one who has her accreditation up to date, it had been a group decision to give it to her – and ever the mother, she kneels on the trail and kindly helps Sofia mop up the mess.

By the time she is done, Catherine's demeanour has softened.

"There you go," she says.

"Thanks," Sofia replies.

As Sofia stands Nick takes hold of her elbow, supporting her while she tests the weight, but then she hoists her pack back on her shoulders, and having only paused a few minutes, the group continues on.

In the end they do reach the camp site before dark, though not by much, and they erect two family tents without too much trouble. Sara takes a brief walk around the clearing, noting that it is deserted for miles, and she spends a moment appreciating how remote they are as she looks out to the rolling hills in the distance. She checks out the toilet block, and makes up her bed, and when asked later by Internal Affairs what they did that night, it all passes through her mind in a blur.

She originally had visions of it being a boy scout camp out, complete with roaring fire and ghost stories, but in reality the hike was five miles in the bright Nevada sun, and by the time they had dinner, they were exhausted. She recalls that before they went to bed, Nick claimed to have seen something, far off among the trees, but that Sara had seen nothing, and the group had dismissed it. Grissom had forbade them from searching in the dark, judging wisely that it was best left until morning.

"It's the power of suggestion," she recalls him saying, poised at the edge of the trees, flashlight shining out into the darkness.

"I don't see anything," Sara says, shining her own light.

She glances at Nick, checking how certain he looks, but he blinks and appears tired.

"You mean we imagine a ghost because it was suggested to us?" Catherine asks.

"Maybe," Grissom concedes. "In any case, we'd be unwise to search in the dark in a National Park this big. We'll look in the morning."

"Sounds good to me," Warrick says, already disinterested. "Let's get some shut-eye."

XXX

Much later, Sara is lying awake, listening to the sounds of the desert night. They are up high, miles away from the tourist hot spots, and the entire world is quiet, a faint wind blowing at the sides of the tent, flapping it a little.

The bed she is lying on is not comfortable, but is passable for the night, and she turns her head to gaze in the dark at her two companions. For the sake of keeping the hike simple they divided into two tents, mens' and womens', and Catherine is lying along the opposite wall, with Sofia along the back wall. Sara reflects that although the tent was advertised as fitting six, it fits the three of them and their packs just neatly, and as she lies there, taking in the tranquillity of the night, her keen sense of observation causes her to realise that neither of her companions are asleep.

When Catherine rolls over the rustle of sleeping bag is a little too vigorous for slumber, and Sara chances a whisper.

"You awake?"

"Yeah," Catherine replies, sighing. "This bed isn't made for sleeping."

"It's rock hard," Sara agrees.

Nevertheless she doesn't mind, and she gazes up at the tent ceiling feeling oddly at peace with the world.

"My guts are cramping," Catherine complains.

With a sudden realisation Sara understands why Catherine did not want to come on this trip, and feels a stab of sympathy. It is something she could have never explained to Grissom.

"I have some painkillers, if that helps," she offers.

"I might take you up on that."

Sara sits up, and unclips a few buckles to dig in her pack. She rummages around and emerges with a box of paracetamol, and passes it to Catherine.

"Here –"

"Mind if I grab one too?" says a voice.

Sara glances and sees that as suspected, Sofia is wide awake. She has propped a jacket under her head as a pillow, and is lying there staring up at the ceiling with a look that it is the longest night of her life.

"Sure," Catherine says.

There is a quick exchange, and both women sit up and guzzle water.

"Your knee still hurts?" Sara guesses.

"It's throbbing," Sofia says bluntly. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom, walk it off."

"I'll come with you," Catherine says.

The two women get up, and Sara does not know why she goes with them, other than the fact that she is wide awake, and mildly bored. She wanders over to the toilets with them, but wary of camping site toilets is happy to wait outside while Catherine goes in. She hovers a few feet from the entrance, wondering if they have really gained anything from the hike, and uses the moment to gaze out at the trees, appreciating the beauty of the National Park at night.

It is then that she sees it; a shadow flitting amongst the trees.

She freezes.

Her instinct is to call out, but with a glance to the tents, she holds it. The guys are asleep.

She looks again, and it is gone.

She moves toward the trees, and steps a few feet in, glad that she had the sense to grab her gun before leaving the tent. She pulls it from the holster, and shines her torch light around, but there is nothing but trees. She hears footsteps behind her, and whips around to see Sofia there, her blonde hair shining pale in the moonlight.

"What is it?" Sofia asks. "Did you see something?"

"I thought I did," Sara confesses.

She looks again, feeling more comfortable now that she has backup, and takes a few more steps in, moving about fifteen feet to where she saw the shadow dart. She shines her light, casting it among the trees and rocky slopes, but there is nothing there. The world is oddly quiet.

"I must have imagined it," she wonders.

"The power of suggestion?" Sofia recites.

She has still not moved from beside the toilet block, but watches on, ever on guard.

"I don't believe in ghosts," Sara says.

"Nor do I," Sofia agrees. "It's a load of hogwash."

Sara shares a smile with her, but then looks back amongst the trees, doubting herself. She takes a few more steps, stopping beside a burly tree trunk.

"We shouldn't be out here without PD," Sofia complains, shining her torch light out as she watches. "If there is a killer out here, we're exposed."

"Those hikers probably got lost," Sara says.

But just as she says it, a twig breaks, and as she turns toward the tree, a shadow leaps out and hurls itself toward her. She has no time to react, no time to raise her gun, and in a split second it is knocked from her hand, her torch tossed aside, and a fist smacks her in the face, knocking her flat.

Her head spins; she hits the dirt, grains in her mouth.

"LVPD!" Sofia shouts. "Stop there!"

Even through her throbbing head she hears Sofia shouting, running down the slope.

"Sofia?" Catherine calls.

"Catherine!"

Sara hears Sofia below her, further down the slope. There is a tell-tale click of the safety of a weapon, then nothing. Silence.

Then there is a scramble.

"Sara?"

There is a hand to the back of her shoulder, Sofia's voice.

"Are you hurt?"

Sara remembers to breathe, and gasps a breath, the pressure in her skull agony. She can't move, her head throbs. She grips the ground.

"What happened?"

It is Catherine.

"Can you get Grissom?" Sofia asks.

There is a dash of departing footsteps, and Sara lies there, the night quiet. She finds it hard to breathe, and gasps into the dirt, her head threatening to explode. With each breath the world spins, and she grips the ground, trying to stop it.

"Sara?" Sofia prompts. "Are you all right?"

There is a gentle, yet urgent, hand to her back, and Sara tries to muster her voice, fights to speak.

"He has …" she gasps for breath "… a strong fist."

"Yeah, I gathered that," Sofia replies. "Just stay still, don't move."

For the first time Sara is grateful that Sofia is along on the trip, as she lies there, happy to obey. A few seconds pass while she gathers her bearings, and the topsy-turvyness of the world gradually peters out, and she loosens her grip on the ground.

Her head throbs, but she rolls a little, onto her side – enough to see her team running down the slope, Grissom at the head, eyes fearful.

"Stay still," Sofia repeats.

"Sara?"

Grissom kneels beside her on the leaves, and in an instant his hand on her side, his frantic eyes scanning.

"I'm all right," Sara breathes.

It seems important to reassure him of that.

"What happened?" Warrick asks.

"He leapt out from behind a tree and hit her," Sofia provides. "He ran downhill."

"Which way?" Nick asks.

She gathers that Sofia points, as in a burst of masculinity, Nick leaps up, giving chase. Warrick races after him.

"Go," Grissom says, to someone. "I'll stay with her."

Sara feels Sofia's hand leave her, and then more footfalls, downhill.

Sara sighs, pained. Her eyes take a moment to focus.

"Are you okay?" Grissom asks.

"I'm all right," Sara says.

The pain in her head steadies, and with a fight for control, she manages to take in her surroundings. Grissom is right next to her, holding her, and Catherine is behind her head, her soft hand also on her shoulder. As she lies there she hears a rustling in the wind, and a drop of rain plops on her cheek.

Rain, she realises.

She suddenly realises she does not want to get rained on, and gradually, slowly, forces herself to sit up.

Grissom's hands lock on her, his arm around her shoulders, and it feels so good that she stays there, a brief second.

"Take your time," he guides.

But after another second, more drops land on her face, and she does not want to lose momentum – nor still be on the ground when the guys return. With a glance over her shoulder, she stands, rising shakily to her feet, where Catherine and Grissom both steady her.

"Take it slow," Catherine says.

"I'm all right," Sara replies.

She sighs, her head clearing.

She glances around for her gun, but Catherine has already picked it up, and so she begins the slow walk back to the camp site, taking one step at a time. By the time she is halfway Grissom seems to decide that she is ripe for questioning, and begins the inquisition.

"What were you doing out here? We were going to search in the morning."

"We had to go to the bathroom," Catherine provides.

He is quiet; she can tell he does not like the answer.

He leads her over to a shelter; a hut with a roof and a picnic table beneath, and steers her onto the seat. She is glad that she is temporarily relieved of the questions, as it gives her a moment to sit and relax, and she grips the seat with both hands, either side of her.

Catherine dashes off to the tent, and emerges a second later with her first aid bag and an evidence kit, and Sara's CSI mind suddenly kicks back into gear. Of course – she is evidence.

Catherine drops the lot on the bench and takes out the camera. Sara squints under the beam of Grissom's torch light.

"Hold still a moment," Catherine says, raising the camera.

She snaps a few photos. Sara gathers there must be a wound, or bruise to her temple. She ignores it for the moment, and holds still, trying to be professional, but then Grissom decides to be an amateur doctor, and gives her a barrage of questions on her health. She tolerates them, and is quite touched as he feels her pulse in her neck, shines his torch beam into her eyes, and even checks her ears. She knows he is looking for blood, for signs of concussion.

"I'm fine," Sara repeats.

His eyes hold her, penetrating.

"Did you bring a change of clothes?" Catherine asks.

"Yeah," Sara replies.

"We'll have to bag your clothes, just in case," Grissom points out.

But they are distracted as the rest of the team returns, and Sara notices instantly that they do not have anyone with them – the suspect got away.

"No sign of him?" Catherine guesses.

"He's fled," Sofia answers.

"Probably halfway to Vegas by now," Warrick adds.

"We'll take a better look when it gets light," Nick says. "Can't see much in this darkness. It's not safe to chase him much further."

The night is indeed dark, and Sara notices that the moonlight from earlier has disappeared behind a cloud. She can barely make out the tents across the camp site, and there is a chill in the air. The raindrops plop on the roof, and as she listens, she hears they are now heavier, louder.

She shivers; she is in short sleeves.

"Are you all right?" Sofia asks.

Sara nods, encouragingly. "Fine."

"You sure?" Nick asks, frowning at her. "You don't look good."

"Thanks," she jokes.

She shivers again, involuntarily. She feels goose bumps prickling up her arms.

"We can get a med-evac," Sofia starts.

"I'm good," Sara says.

She forces herself to stand, vows her knees to stop wobbling.

"Are you sure?" Grissom asks.

"Yeah," she says.

"All right," he says. He looks to Catherine. "Take her into the tent, bag her clothes."

XXX

Sara makes it to the tent with her pride intact, and is giddy with relief to have headed off the embarrassment of a helicopter evacuation. It is good to get inside, and she stands in the centre of the floor space, determined to be professional, as Catherine whirs the zip shut behind them. Catherine grabs a large evidence bag, and opens it up on the floor for her.

"Here … you know the drill. I'll note the time."

She balances the torch while she checks her watch, and Sara moves in the dim light, stripping her shirt, and then her pants. She stuffs them in the bag, and Catherine, ever the pro, stands back and pretends to pay little attention.

"Did you see what he looked like?" Catherine asks.

She takes out a pen and marks the bag.

"It happened so fast," Sara ventures, unable to picture a face. "It was dark."

She steps to her pack on the floor, and kneels, rummaging around for the spare set of clothes she knows she has stashed there. As she digs she hears the wind has picked up, and the tent wall beside her flaps, protesting briefly.

"The weather's changing," Sara notes.

"What a night to send us camping," Catherine mutters.

Sara feels for her, for many reasons, and as she finds the fresh clothes she drops them on her sleeping bag. But as she goes to stand her feet fail her, and she mis-steps, off-balance.

"You look unsteady on your feet," Catherine says.

Catherine's eyes peer at her from where is sitting across the tent floor, labelling evidence.

Sara shakes her head, unsure what happened, and she grips the sleeping bag a second before standing again, more carefully.

"It just spun me out," she dismisses.

"You got a headache?" Catherine asks.

"No," Sara says, truthfully.

She successfully puts her shirt on, but when she goes to grab the pants her head spins, and the world for a moment tilts. She lurches to grab the sleeping bag.

"Whoa …"

In a moment Catherine is crouched in front of her.

"I think you need a doctor," she says.

"I just need a minute," Sara says.

In truth what she needs is a minute without the team staring at her, and she takes a long steadying breath, hoping Catherine will understand. She can see Catherine's mouth is open slightly, and that she is not far away from raising the alarm, but thankfully, she doesn't.

Sara glances around for her water bottle, but when she grabs it is too light, and empty.

"Here, take mine," Catherine offers.

In a second Catherine grabs her own and passes it to her, and Sara thanks her. She takes a few swigs. The water is cool, and refreshing. The cold air in the tent tickles her bare legs; it is icy.

A voice sounds from outside.

"Catherine, you done?" Grissom calls.

"He's so impatient," Sara complains.

"We'll be out in a minute!" Catherine responds. She looks to Sara. "Get your pants on."

Sara goes again to grab them, but again her head spins, and this time she has to put out a second hand to steady herself, on the tent floor.

"I feel a bit faint," she confesses.

She wonders at that.

Catherine's hand lands on her shoulder.

"Can you stand up?" she asks.

Sara's head wobbles; she is a second from collapse.

"I'd rather not try."

She is nervous now, and her mind frantically spins, flailing, trying to get a grip. Catherine's hands steer her toward the bed.

"Lie down," she says, firmly. "Forget the pants, just lie down."

Sara does; her vision goes starry for a second, her head light, but then she is horizontal on the sleeping bag, and it is blissful, wonderfully flat.

"Grissom!" Catherine shouts.

"Don't –" Sara pleads.

"We need a doctor!"

Sara inwardly cringes, but there is no stopping it now. Nevertheless she does not have the energy to argue as Catherine swipes her own sleeping bag, throwing it across the tent to cover Sara, and Sara is at least glad that the team will not see her in her underwear. Sara stares at the ceiling, trying to push the stars out of her vision, and for a moment, forgets where she is.

There is a voice outside.

"I'm coming in!" Grissom calls.

Sara subconsciously grips the top sleeping bag, covering herself, but she feels more panicked than embarrassed as Grissom enters.

"She's dizzy," Catherine summarises. "Unsteady on her feet."

Sara senses in the corner of her vision that Grissom has arrived, and then, predictably, he is at her side, his large hand soothing on her forehead. Suddenly this isn't so bad.

"Do you have a headache?" he asks.

Sara scrunches her eyes up a second, opens them to clear the stars. She sees Grissom peering down at her, his scruffy beard only a foot away, his blue eyes intensely focused.

"I'll be … up in a minute," she says.

"Do you have a headache?" he repeats.

"I don't know."

It is easier to lie than to figure out his questions, and she buys herself a moment while they observe her. It feels odd, being the centre of attention.

"She must have a concussion," she hears Nick say, and she tilts her head to see him back at the entrance, standing with Warrick and Sofia.

"It's five miles to the ranger's station, where we left the car," Sofia calculates.

"It's too far for her to hike out," Catherine says.

"Too far for us to carry her," Warrick agrees.

They are all peering at her with concern, and Sara turns away, staring up at an innocent spot on the ceiling. Her vision is still starry. She feels concerned; why is it like that?

"I'll radio for help," Sofia declares. "See about an evac."

"Okay," Grissom agrees.

An evac. Sara takes a moment to absorb that, but the professional in her knows it is the right thing to do. She will have to deal with it.

"Do you feel nauseous?" Catherine asks.

She is crouched beside Grissom, at Sara's feet.

Suddenly Sara can't deal with the questions.

"I just need a minute," Sara explains.

She closes her eyes, hoping they will leave her alone, and luckily they take the hint. She listens while they chatter amongst themselves, but mainly focuses on Grissom stroking her forehead, and then how his hand dips to her pulse, counting the beats. She hears a distant conversation outside, intermittent through the wind, and she has barely rested before Sofia returns, poking her face in the tent.

"Grissom," she says. "Can I have a word?"

The reassuring hand leaves her, and she listens, eyes closed, while he retreats. She can nevertheless hear them outside; the tent wall is not noise-proof.

"Search and rescue can't land a chopper in this wind," Sofia explains, voice low. "The storm's picking up. They have to wait 'til it clears."

"What about a land rescue?" Grissom asks.

"It'd have to be on foot," Warrick says. "By the time they hike up here and carry her out, the storm will have passed."

She hears Grissom sigh.

"An hour for them to assemble a team, an hour to reach the ranger's station, a three hour hike –"

"In the dark and bad weather," Sofia adds.

"And even when they get here it'll be a slow trip out," Warrick concludes.

"So what's that?" Grissom says, and Sara can hear him tallying. "Ten? Eleven hours?"

"It's quicker to wait out the storm," Warrick says.

There is an awkward sigh, a moment of silence, and Sara actually feels sorry for them.

"What about Sara?" Sofia asks.

"She'll be fine," Warrick says. "It's not a bad concussion."

"It's not bad yet," Grissom corrects.

When they return Sara hoists a brave face, and pretends she heard nothing. She tries to open her eyes, and though her vision is still spotty, she can still make out her colleagues, standing and sitting and around the tent. Grissom resumes his position beside her, but it is Nick that interests her, and when his gaze falls on her she can't resist an attempt at a joke.

"What?" she asks. "I take it I still look awful?"

"No, no," he chimes. "You're a picture of health."

"Yeah, you look awesome," Warrick says.

His eyebrow is raised, sceptical, nice and high.

Sara smiles. "I'll be fine in a little while."

"Of course you will," Grissom agrees. "Just take it easy."

It is easy to take it easy while he is there, constantly comforting her, offering small touches and reassurances, and after a while, even the embarrassment at being the only one struck down passes. The guys make themselves comfortable, and Sara has time to ponder her symptoms. She knows she has a concussion, and her head isn't quite right, but none of her friends seem worried yet. That has to be good.

"Do you think he's still out there?" Sara ponders.

"Don't worry about that," Catherine says, eyes firm.

"I'm not worried," Sara says.

"He'd better not be," Warrick says, with manly confidence. "Or else I'll go out there and sink a fist into his face, see how he likes it."

"He's probably gone for cover in this weather," Sofia says.

"We'll search in the morning," Nick agrees. "Hunt the scumbag down."

Their aggression is touching, and Sara can't help but steal a glance at their waists, checking that sure enough, they are armed. On that note her mind relaxes a little, and she closes her eyes, sighing as another bout of dizziness takes her.

Her head isn't right, but she is able to keep track of time as it passes. Every so often Grissom's thick fingers probe the pulse at her neck, and they stay there a while, evidently counting the beats. Even through her eyelids she can sense the glow of an occasional flash light, but she lets them do what they need to do, and aside from the odd request that she stays awake, they let her rest.

Sofia's phone sings out regularly, and Sara opens her eyes once to see her ducking in and out of the tent like a cuckoo clock, taking calls. But it is not until Grissom's phone regularly chimes beside her that she really takes notice. Unlike Sofia, Grissom ignores it.

"Who's calling?" Sara murmurs.

There is an aggravated sigh, a rustle of fabric, and she opens her eyes to see Grissom staring at the screen.

"Ecklie," he says.

Sara closes her eyes again. She can't think about Ecklie now.

"What's he want?" she hears Sofia ask.

"What do you think?" Grissom replies.

"He's heard, then," Catherine says.

"What's he looking for?" Nick asks. "Updates?"

"He's covering his behind," Sofia says. "This mission was his idea. It's technically against lab policy."

"Not to mention an abuse of resources," Warrick adds.

"Well …" Sara says, considering the matter. "You can tell him we're having a great team builder."

She cracks her eyes open and sees Grissom smiling at her, and she smiles back, briefly. When she closes them again she feels him take her wrist, on the pretence of monitoring her pulse, but after a moment his hand grips hers, strong and comforting, and she lets herself rest, feeling safe.

She does not rest for long before Sofia's phone rings again, and after doing another cuckoo impersonation she has a chat with Grissom.

"There's paramedics on the line, if we need advice," she says.

"Not much to do but keep her still," Catherine says. "Monitor the signs."

"We're all right so far," Grissom says. "We'll call back if we need help."

There is another long silence, and then, just as she is falling asleep, Nick prompts her.

"Sara? You still awake?"

"Mm-hmm …" she murmurs.

Deep inside, she curses him, but lets it go.

"You're quiet," Grissom notes.

"Concussion will do that to you," Warrick says, saving her the trouble of answering.

But as she rests she still senses their eyes on her, and then feels a speck of guilt.

"You all don't have to stay," she offers.

"Where would we go?" Grissom says, as if it's a done deal.

"You should get some sleep," Sara says.

She wonders what time it is; some time after midnight? The early hours?

"Not until you look better," Nick says.

She nearly leaves it at that, but then doesn't.

"You know, five people supervising a headache is overkill," she says.

Warrick is blunt. "I thought you said you didn't have a headache?"

He wins that round. Sara doesn't remember what she said, and rests again, letting her throbbing head take her. Grissom squeezes her hand, and she moves her fingers against his, knowing he will not leave.

"Sleep if you want," she hears Grissom say to the others. "I'll stay."

"I'll stay, too," Catherine volunteers.

"I'm gonna go for a walk," Warrick says. "Check the clearing. Make sure we're alone."

"I'll come with you," Nick says.

She hears both men leave, and they zip the tent again to keep out the wind, which has picked up. Sara chances opening her eyes, but sees only stars, and she squints in Catherine's torch light before admitting defeat.

"You keep blinking," Sofia says, with irritatingly good observation skills. "Is your vision blurry?"

"It's fine," Sara covers.

"Is that why your eyes are closed?" Grissom counters.

She does not have the energy for this, and shakes her head, ignoring them.

"Just leave it."

An unexpected bout of nausea rises up from her stomach, and she swallows, hard. She squeezes her eyes closed. Grissom's hand tightens, and then his fingers move, soothing.

"We'll stay with you," Catherine reassures, with a touch to her leg, through the sleeping bag. "You'll be fine."

As she drifts again she hears Sofia speak to Grissom.

"Don't let the guys sleep," she advises. "When Ecklie asks questions he'll use it against you."

"We haven't done anything wrong," Grissom points out.

"It's political," Sofia says. "Just protect yourself."

But Grissom is calm.

"The only person we need to protect right now is Sara."

He squeezes her hand again, and Sara drifts.

Little changes over the next half hour. Sara lies there, listening to the gusting wind outside, fighting hard to stay awake. Grissom's hand tethers her to the present, bringing her back every so often with squeezes and words of reassurance, and she doesn't talk much. Even in her concussed state, she knows she has deteriorated since arriving back at the camp site, and she wonders at that. As she thinks it over, her head throbbing, she swallows down several more bouts of nausea, and has to shift on the bed to get comfortable. Grissom's hand moves to her neck, supporting her head as she moves, but it doesn't help.

She feels it spasm up her throat, and groans, softly.

"Are you okay?" Grissom asks.

This time she has to be honest.

"I need an evidence bag," she says.

Catherine snatches one up just in time, and as it arrives Sara pukes into it. Her head splits as she vomits, protesting the movement, and then the world spins, wildly and dangerously. Grissom catches her before she falls in it, and her two CSI colleagues move the bag away from her.

Grissom lays her back down, and Sara doesn't even care that the sleeping bag has fallen off her. She feels Catherine readjust it.

"I'm gonna call the paramedics," Sofia says, standing. "Touch base with Jim."

She leaves, and the wind has picked up enough, gusting and howling, that Sara doesn't even hear the conversation. Neither does she care.

Not even Grissom's hands help now. They put a fresh evidence bag beside her, as if knowing that she will do it again, and Sara lies atop her sleeping bag, trying to stop shaking.

"She's got the shakes," Catherine notes.

Sara shivers hard; it is so impossibly hot, yet so freezingly cold, both at once.

"The temperature's dropped," she says. "The wind –"

"It's not windy in here," Grissom notes.

He reaches for her pack, heaving it over.

"Did you bring a jacket?"

Sara thinks, but can't recall. Her head is cloudy.

"I can't remember."

"You don't know what you packed?" Catherine asks.

Grissom passes the pack to Catherine, as if he thinks that is more discrete for a woman to go through it. Catherine wastes no time, and her hands emerge with a baggy, navy blue, CSI windbreaker.

It looks oddly familiar.

"Sit up slowly," Grissom says, guiding her up. "Put the jacket on."

Sara fights through her starry vision to see the jacket as they help her on with it, and realises it's hers.

"It's mine," she says.

She barely has to do anything as they zip it up, snug around her.

"Yes, it's yours," Grissom says. "Lie back down."

She steadies her as he lowers her back down, arms strong around her, and when she lowers her head there is now something soft under it; a piece of folded clothing. She closes her eyes again, still nauseous, and focuses on breathing.

She feels Catherine's hand on her forehead.

"You should put your pants on," she says. "Get in the sleeping bag, wrap up warm."

Sara can't even think about pants right now; that would involve standing.

"I can turn around," Grissom offers. "I won't look."

But Sara shakes her head; she doesn't even care about privacy anymore. She is too sick to worry about that.

"I'm not getting up," she explains.

"Here," Catherine says, and Sara catches a glimpse of her holding Sara's folded pants, the ones she abandoned earlier. "I'll slide them over your ankles, you tug them up."

It seems she doesn't have a choice, and Catherine is already at work before Sara even figures it all out. Then Sofia is there, helping, and Sara forces herself to sit up a little, and tolerates the world spinning for a second or two while she tugs them over her hips. She doesn't button them; she doesn't care, and collapses back down, head heavy and throbbing on the make-shift pillow.

"We need to get her in the bag," Catherine says.

"I know," Grissom says. "Her temperature's dropping."

"She doesn't look fit to move –" Warrick starts.

"Well," Nick says, "I'll lift her up, you slide it under her. Then we can zip up the side."

Sara's chest sinks with dread. Her head just might explode at that.

"Guys, please …" she slurs. "I don't …"

"We need to get you in the sleeping bag," Grissom says, no-nonsense. "You're hypothermic."

Again, she gets no choice, and she senses faintly that she no longer has any say in the situation. Nick is strong, she will give him that, and as he lifts her up there is a brief rustle of blanket, and then a moment when he is waiting for it to be levelled out, holding her, Sara's head against his shoulder.

"I bet you didn't see this one in the team building schedule," he jokes. "Right?"

"Yeah, I'm feeling closer already," Sara jokes.

He sets her back down, and then there is a moment of clarity where she looks at Grissom, and sees how deep the concern is in his eyes. Her nausea passes, for a second.

"You're not getting in with me?" she jokes.

His face seizes.

"Not yet," he says.

"Lie down," Catherine says, urging her down with a hand. "You don't have to talk."

Sara knows what Catherine is doing – shutting her up before she can embarrass herself – but Sara only smiles. It is only a brief moment before the throbbing and sickness settles back in, but this time, at least, the wind in the tent has vanished. The sleeping bag is snug, and she is wrapped up like an eskimo. Before she passes out again Catherine wrestles a beanie onto her head, tugging it down over Sara's ears, and she is at least warm. Grissom, her hands under the blankets, settles for touching her shoulder.

As she closes her eyes and lets herself drift a little she hears the group talking, seeming satisfied that she cannot hear them.

"She looks pale," Nick notes. "Should one of us … you know –"

"What, get in with her?" Catherine finishes.

"She'll be fine in the bag," Grissom says. "Scientifically there's not a lot of evidence that person to person contact actually helps."

"We're not at that point yet," Catherine says.

"Well if it does come to that, we know who she prefers," Warrick jokes.

But Catherine doesn't find it funny.

"Leave her alone," she says, firmly. "She's delirious."

"Yeah, and it's getting worse," Sofia adds.

Sara doesn't take in much of the next hour or two, or however long it is. The binging of Sofia's phone has faded into the far distance, somewhere over a cloudy horizon, and the bed feels as if it is floating. She lies there, sensing only the odd touch to her shoulder, a far-off voice telling her to stay awake. She floats in and out of the clouds, until a voice reaches her, penetrating through.

"Sara? _Sara_."

It is Grissom's voice.

"Uh-huh?" she murmurs.

"Stay with us," he pleads.

There is something in the tone which niggles at her, a tone which is not like him. She fights her way through one cloud, and then cracks one eye open slightly, heavily.

Instantly she is disoriented. There is a tent above her, swimming and spinning, and Grissom's face, close-by. She is floating. Why is she floating? She is weightless.

"Oh," she murmurs.

For some reason her head hurts.

"It's all right," comes Grissom's voice. She feels his hand on her shoulder.

She takes in the pressure of that hand. Something is wrong.

"Grissom?" she whispers.

"I'm here," he says. "It's okay. Do you remember what happened?"

What did happen? She considers it, finds no answers. But she is in a tent. It looks like a tent.

"Sara," he presses. "Do you remember what happened?"

His tone is firm, desperate, and she fights her way through the clouds. What did he say? He wants to know what happened. She fights, and then through the clouds recalls a hilltop, a camp site, and a toilet block.

"We were walking," she murmurs.

"You were hit in the head," he provides.

Yes, she thinks, that must be it. Her head hurts. It throbs. The clouds gather again.

"Are you in pain?" a female asks.

The voice is unrecognisable, and Sara fights stubbornly through more pleasant clouds to crank one eye halfway open, and spots a woman there, leaning over her. The woman has red hair, and she feels a strong sense of déjà vu before the name at last arrives. This is her colleague. Catherine.

"Catherine," she says.

But oddly the woman doesn't look pleased that she remembered her name. Her red hair is dangling over her, leaning in, eyes concerned.

"Yeah, I'm Catherine …" she says.

She sounds wary.

It is too difficult to figure out.

"Do you know _your_ name?" Grissom asks.

"Sara," Sara slurs.

The redhead sits back.

"Her responses are slow," she says.

Sara lets her eyes fall closed; it is too much. She drifts pleasantly again for a while, and then, through the clouds, she hears a shrill phone again.

She cranks an eye open to see a tent again, and in the corner sees a blonde woman, phone to her ear.

"Yeah, Jim, we're still waiting on the chopper … tell them to hurry …"

The woman leaves the tent, and Sara gazes at her long blonde hair as she leaves. She has the sense that she has seen the woman before, but can't grasp a name. It is too confusing.

As her gaze drifts around she catches more eyes, and a muscle-bound man in the corner, watching.

"Hey," he says.

This one is familiar. Nick.

"You with us?" another man asks.

She considers the faces. They are all looking at her.

"I'm popular," she realises, in wonder.

"You're injured," Grissom intervenes, a hand on her shoulder. "We're going to get you to a doctor."

A doctor, Sara thinks. Yes, her head is throbbing. Something is not quite right.

They are stationed around like first aiders, and she wonders what the plan is. She has to help with this. Their SUV must be outside.

"You want me in the car …?" she slurs.

"Damn, Griss," a male voice says. "She's losing it."

"She'll be fine," the redhead replies. "Don't panic."

Sara takes comfort from the woman's certainty, and searches again for her name. It started with a C, she thinks. Catherine. The redhead is Catherine.

"Catherine," she says.

"You're gonna be fine," she hears back.

"Don't worry about a thing," Grissom echoes.

But Sara ponders the redhead. Catherine. A colleague. And she has such bright red hair …

"You have nice hair," she slurs.

Again, oddly, the redhead doesn't look complimented, but stars at her, worried.

"Thanks," she says, and hoists a look of confidence, too late.

"What about my hair?" Grissom asks.

Sara has already closed her eyes, and feels the clouds tugging at her. She does not need to look at him. This is Grissom.

"You're handsome," she replies.

She feels his hand on her shoulder, and then voices fade again, becoming distant.

"Man," Warrick says. "She's really losing it."

"It's getting worse," Nick agrees.

There is a whir of the zip on the tent.

"Where are we on the chopper?" Nick asks.

"Should have lift-off in an hour," Sofia says.

"Let's hope that's not too late," Warrick says.

Sara only catches pieces of what happens after that. She feels Grissom's hand on her shoulder, holding and calming, and then stroking her forehead, feeling her pulse. She leans into it. It is reassuring, strong. The clouds part again briefly, as a wave of nausea rises up. She faintly realises she is vomiting into a bag, and then more strong hands help her lie back down.

"It's all right," Grissom says. "The paramedics are on their way."

"Gil?" she asks.

"I'm here," he says.

His hand massages her shoulder, reassuring, and she slips a hand up from the sleeping bag to hold it. He takes her fingers gently.

Suddenly she has no idea where she is.

"What happened?" she asks.

"You were hit in the head," he answers.

He massages her fingers, holding and rubbing. It must be bad, she thinks.

"Hit in the head," she repeats.

"That's correct."

"He hit me in the head," she realises.

"That's right."

Her hand gets a squeeze, a reward. She feels a pain in her stomach, blunt, dull.

"He beat me?" she asks.

"No," Grissom answers. "He punched you in the head. You have a concussion."

A concussion, she thinks. Yes, it feels like it. Wow.

"The head?" she repeats.

"He hit you in the head."

But there is a pain in her stomach.

"Not the stomach?" she asks.

"No. He hit you in the head."

She is grateful when a male voice intervenes.

"Griss," it says, "she keeps touching her stomach. Did he hit her in the stomach?"

"I don't know," a woman replies. "I only saw him punch her in the head."

She does not know who this voice belongs to, but it doesn't sound like the redhead.

"She has been vomiting," Nick says.

"Sara," Grissom says, clearly. "Did he hit you in the stomach? Do you remember?"

Sara shakes her head, distantly. She recalls nothing. Why is she in a sleeping bag? She has a flashback to her childhood, to school camps.

"She has no idea," the same woman replies.

"How's your stomach?" another woman asks, and she recognises this one as Catherine. "Are you in pain?"

Sara tries to find her voice.

"Ugh …"

The rest of the words, though planned, do not come.

She hears Nick.

"Well, Cath, you bagged her clothes. Did you see anything?"

"I didn't notice a bruise," Catherine says. "I was too busy watching her faint."

"Look again," Grissom says, a firm hand to Sara's shoulder. "If she was hit in the stomach, that could be vital information for the paramedics."

"Okay," she says. "You're my witness."

Sara fades again, floating on a cloud, but there is an odd noise, a distant sound of a zip, unfamiliar. Then her comfortable blanket is aside, and the air is cold again. Her stomach is cold. Ice cold. Why is her shirt up? She has a flashback to some trees, and an irrepressible sense of danger. She struggles, and shoots a hand up to defend herself, against the opponent.

"Whoa, Sara!"

Suddenly male arms are clamped around her, holding her back. They are strong. She tries to open her eyes, to clear her vision, but everything is fuzzy.

"Sara, it's okay!"

She hears Grissom's voice.

"It's okay," he repeats, softer now. "It's just Catherine. You've hurt your abdomen, she's tending your injuries."

"Lie her back down," Catherine says.

The strong arms guide her down, and Sara fights the blurred vision to make out Catherine there. She has a sudden moment of clarity, of clear-headedness. Shit, she thinks. What has she done?

"Catherine?" she asks.

"It's okay," Catherine says.

She makes her out through the blurred vision, sitting back a little, one hand slightly up.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I thought –"

But she has no idea what she thought, and as fast as it came, the moment of clarity vanishes. Then the warm blanket is covering her again, the zip pulled up. The world is cosy, and the clouds return. Grissom's hand is back, comforting on her shoulder.

"It's all right," he soothes.

"We'll get them to do an ultrasound at the hospital," Catherine says.

"That's one heck of a bruise," Sofia adds.

And Sara passes out.

When she wakes next, it is only briefly. Grissom's hand is strong in hers again, and the comforting blanket is gone, replaced by foil. She is moving, being carried in the air.

"Keep breathing," Grissom says, grasping her hand tight. "It's all right."

On her other side there is another hand, a woman's.

"Stay with us, Sara," Catherine says.

Shit, Sara thinks. This doesn't sound good.

She hears helicopter blades, feels her hair blowing around her neck. But Grissom's hand is still clamped in hers, and she doesn't panic.

There are other voices, too, but she ignores those. Someone is rattling off a list of injuries. It doesn't sound like her. She wonders who is hurt.

And again, she passes out.

XXX

Over the next few days, Sara pieces things together in snippets. She gathers pretty quickly, over the following hours, that she is in hospital. She comes to once to see herself in an imaging room, a nurse standing over her, reassuring. She comes to in again in the ICU. There is the beeping of machines, the regular clicking of shoes on the floor, and a sinking sense of realisation that something has happened to her, in the line of duty.

The doctors fill her in. She has had a head injury. A narrow escape. She listens until she catches the words "you will be fine" before resting, and she sleeps for a long time. The details aren't important, initially, but she learns in time the extent of what happened. They took a field trip to the mountains. She had a concussion, an assault, blunt force trauma to her stomach, which thankfully only produced a bruise. She owes a thank you to her colleagues.

The team visits steadily, over the next few days, once she is out of ICU, and the doctor gives the all clear for unrelated visitors. First is Sofia, who she is touched has visited at all, and Sofia gives her a factual account of what happened. Sara listens, and quizzes her on the details, not remembering any of it. She realises how close she came, and understands by the time Sofia parts why she felt the need to drop in. She also learns that Ecklie is in trouble, and being questioned by Internal Affairs. That is satisfying. She is glad Sofia stopped by.

Next to fill her in is Catherine, who swings by after shift, after dropping Lindsey off at school. She hears a similar version of the story to what Sofia told her, though with a little more frank and personal detail. Sara listens patiently, and thanks her honestly for saving her life, before something niggles at her, a faint memory that she owes her an apology.

"Did I … hit you?" she asks.

"No," Catherine replies, without missing a beat. "You missed."

Sara watches her face, wondering if she's being truthful, but then considers that maybe she doesn't want to know.

"Well, I'm sorry," she says. "Regardless."

"Sorry for what?" Catherine counters, looking bemused. "You were barely conscious."

Sara nods, happy to agree.

"I was … a little out of it."

"No kidding," she says, and in Catherine's eyes is a hint of amusement. "I knew that when you called Grissom handsome."

Sara stops.

"I … what?"

Catherine smiles, her blue eyes dance.

"That's right. Mind you, you also said my hair was pretty."

Sara stares; that doesn't sound like her, although if asked objectively, she would probably agree.

She focuses on the important point.

"I told Grissom he was handsome?"

"Relax," she says, "I don't think he took you seriously."

But Sara wonders over the next few hours, and has time to wrap her brain in knots, trapped in her hospital bed, before the next slew of visitors arrive. It is Nick and Warrick next, who are very quick to joke about her hitting on Grissom, and also, after a brief protest, quick to dismiss it and tell her it was no big deal, it will be their secret. They then turn to the facts, and Sara learns that the lab matched DNA off the clothes from her assault to a perp with a record, and that he was under arrest, in PD. Her whole team, and Sofia, gave statements. Thankfully Sofia recognised the guy. Sara is grateful for the detective's eye for detail. Sara also learns that Ecklie has been on Grissom's back about the team's lack of first aid accreditation, which, technically, is supposed to be updated every three years. Nick volunteers that he has enrolled them all in the next round, and Sara can't fight the logic that it is a good idea.

But it is Grissom that she wants to see, and Grissom that she is nervous about seeing. It is later that same night that he pops in, hearing from the others that they are now allowed to visit, and he arrives with a relaxed smile, casual clothes, and a veggie burger.

The burger is a welcome distraction from having to talk about things immediately, and she sits up in bed and tucks in, as he hovers at the end of the bed, hands on the rails.

"So you're all right," he says.

"I'm doing okay," she says, and she smiles, and nods, reassuring.

There is nothing like a near death experience to give you an appreciation of life.

"I thought they were going to release you," he says.

"They were," Sara says. "That was before they found out I live alone. I need a responsible adult."

She watches him carefully, not wanting to be obvious, but takes note as one eye arches a little further, and she sees him thinking quickly. She knows that he knows that she has no one. However, he does not know that Nick has already offered a spare room, and she feels no urge to tell him.

She wonders if he will take the hint, connect the dots. Or flee – again.

"I have a spare room," he ventures, lifting one hand vaguely off the rail. "If you'd like."

He says it softly, quietly, and she almost is nervous he didn't say it. But he waits, hand mid-air, and he looks so nervous that she can't help teasing him – just a little.

"Isn't that improper?" she asks. "A boss and a female employee?"

He walks around the bed, and edges closer.

"I'd like to help," he says.

And then, he does the incredible, and reaches for her fingers, which she gives him. He lightly massages the fingertips. Sara eyes the door behind him, and hopes no one will come in.

"I'll take care of you," he finishes.

Sara bites back her teasing, and stares at him. He is genuine. Suddenly her heart caves in, and she is speechless.

"I'd have to stop by my place," she says quietly. "Grab some things."

"We can do that," he says.

She pushes back the covers, and feels the urge to go to the bathroom. But she stops in the doorway.

"I'm sorry … if I scared you."

He smiles. There is an intensity to his gaze which is unsettling, deep inside.

"I'm relieved you're all right," he says.

She nearly turns to go in the bathroom, but then thinks again, and steps forward. She hesitates, but then checks his eyes, and kisses him lightly on the cheek.

"Thank you for looking after me," she says. "You were amazing."

His eyes pop slightly at the kiss, but she sees the corners of his lips turn up. He is pleased.

She edges back to the bathroom.

"I'll wait here," he says.

"I'll be right back," she responds.

And she closes the door, knowing that she will come out again, that they will make a trip to her place, and sometime after that, in the next few days – if she strings it out – there will be a change, and everything will be okay.

XXX

Finish.

* * *

 _If you did enjoy it, please let me know. Feedback keeps my motivation up and keeps me writing. Thanks, Anna. xo._


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